The Bloke Who Obbed His Muggle Bird a Dozen Times
by retkula
Summary: D'you know that story 'bout this unlucky bloke who botched it up with his Muggle bird and had to Obviliate her? Well, that should've been the end of it..." A sort of an outtake from my story "No Means to Use the Stove". But not really. COMPLETED. Can be r


disclaimer: this ain't mine – though some of it is, I guess. Still, I'm not filching a thing!

a/n: This is a sort of an outtake from my story _No Means to Use the Stove_. But it isn't, really. You can easily read it on its own – just remember **Obbing means Obviliating** and you'll get it. I got the inspiration from a review on the Checkmated, so thanks to **GD**! Those of you that read the Stove might remember the story Lee was telling Charlie in the chapter eight. Thanks to Charlie's state of mind at the time, Lee never got to really telling the tale. Here it is, though the narrator ain't Lee. Hope you'll enjoy!

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**The Bloke Who Obbed His Muggle Bird a Dozen Times**

D'you know that story 'bout this unlucky bloke who dated a Muggle bird and had to Ob her, eh?  You don't? C'mon, everybody knows that one! Alright, alright, I'll tell you, then. I mean, it must be _the_ best known tale of them all: it's simply hilarious!

 Ready? So...once upon a time there was this bloke, and he dated a Muggle bird, but it didn't work out. It didn't work out, and he had to Ob her - you know how it goes. So, he Obbed her alright, and that should have been the end of it, right? _Except _that it wasn't: the bloke picked her up again - yes, yes, the same bloody woman - _and_ _he botched it up anew_! Can you imagine?  How daft can you be?! Anyhow, naturally, then it was...well, _swish_ away with her memories once more!

You'd think _that_ had been enough for him, eh? But nooo way, not for our hero! I mean, he must've been _so_ desperate, or then just fucking ugly, 'cause he kept chasing that same bird over and over again. Must've been the only woman he had ever gotten lucky with, right? And each time he went after her, she had forgotten him completely, and he was forced to start it all over again. And then, when he'd finally tell her he was a wizard, he'd botch it up once more and be forced to Ob her. It must have been the eight or the ninth time when the Ministry finally confiscated the poor bloke's wand! Only temporarily, mind you, but..._c'mon_! How's it to be a wizard without a wand, eh?

But I guess they were right: enough is enough. One time you could've understood, maybe even two, but _eight?_ (Let alone _nine- _if _that's_ the correct number.) Well, some of them were maybe 'cause of his real rotten luck, but the others...plain stupidity, if you ask me! Let me tell you an example: the first time he told her he was a wizard, he wanted to prove it with a charm, to show her some magic, you know. He had planned it carefully; it takes quite a lot to convince a Muggle 'bout there existing something supernatural, or not entirely reasonable in the world. Their lot tends to explain it all away; they see a _lumos _and think it's a very small voice-activated torch; show them an _ alohomora _and they talk about remote controls; and an _engorgio _is only an optical illusion for that lot. So, he had to do something very clearly _magical._

He finally decided on a really convincing and cool trick. It's this sort of cross between a _W. Leviosa_ and a _Locomotor, _and kids love it! You simply point your wand at someone and say the words, and up they go in the air! It's great, it's fun and it's very, very clearly _magical._ He just didn't think 'bout some little details: firstly, that he had just offered her a fag before he literally took her for a lil' _trip _in the air, and secondly, that her sister's job at the junkies' rehab-center had made her pretty knowledgeable, very disapproving and extremely paranoid about all kinds of drugs. Add _that_ to the small fact that she also suffered from a severe case of air sickness, and as the result, he didn't only end up with wearing her yesterday's dinner, but he also had to Ob her, her sister, her mother, her three brothers, her father, her cousins, her co-workers and the whole staff of the nearest police-station. He got some practise with the charm, at least. Fine enough, I guess, 'cause he was going to be needing it!

The second time it was different. He wasn't so stupid. He just didn't time it right. He had learnt his lesson and made sure he offered her nothing to eat or drink, and then he took her to Diagon Alley. The whole street was surely too much to be believed only a drug-related hallucination, right? It should've been alright, I guess. It was pretty busted with people and they were quite funny-looking for a Muggle eye, but they were real people; and it's _cute, _Diagon Alley – all those little shops and old-fashioned-looking buildings and bright colours and that. It was really only a shot of very bad luck that they happened to run across certain people.

I mean, the Weasley twins alone one could maybe had swallowed – it can't be so stressful to watch folks puking their guts out and running around without their heads on, right? Though I guess you _can_ get a little scared when your boyfriend turns into a giant canary - that's if you ain't used to the Weasleys - but I think she could've taken that. It's just that after Fred and George came Hagrid with _his_ brother, and they were in a joyful mood. _Very _joyful. (You know what I'm talking about, eh?) The two pairs of brothers – and the fact that everybody took them like they were perfectly normal people to meet in the middle of the main street – were simply too much for her, in her first visit to the wizarding world. She panicked, she screamed, he had to stun her, the Ministry people noticed, he had to Ob her. And it all started over again.

The third time around...well, it somehow got only worse each time. It was like he'd lost all of his judgement. I mean, to took a fairly easily scared Muggle lass to the Museum of the Wizarding History?! Maybe he forgot it's _really_ not at all like the Muggle museums, or then he only thought about Binns' classes. The reconstructions of the Great Wizarding Battles and the Goblin Wars, enlivened with life-like enactments of spellwork and battlefield-action - that certainly ain't for nervy people! There's a reason for the museum being age-restricted, for Merlin's sake!

The fourth and the fifth time...it _really _wasn't such a great idea to use Floo without finding out first if Muggles could travel by it. And it certainly didn't help thathe had to take her to St.Mungos' ward of Extreme Stupidness-related Magical Accidents afterwards. And even though the _Blair Witch Project _appeared to have introduced the topic already, it maybe wasn't very clever to tell her immediately after watching it. And...nah, I could fill you in with all of his bloody stupidities, but let's not, okay? This story is meant to be funny, you know, and hearing ev'ry little detail makes it kind of sad.

I guess I _could_ mention the one time it all seemed to work all right, though. It was the sixth, if I remember it right. He had told her, she had believed him, she had been interested instead of horrified, they were having tea and ev'rything was fine. He just couldn't believe his luck. He felt so relieved, when he could use his magic around her, that he casted ev'ry little spell one can cast while having tea. He toasted the toast, he banished the used teabags, he changed the color of the teapot, he _engorgioed_ the teapot, he floated the teapot, he _accioed_ the teapot – just when she leaned forward to ask him how it was done. The enormous, enlarged piece of kitchenware collided heavily with her head.

That time she got a real amnesia instead of one caused by a memory charm.

Pathetic, ain't it? Almost unbelievably so. Most people think the story is just a joke, you know, like the things Muggles call _urban legends._ It ain't, though. It's all true. You don't think so? Trust me, I _know._ No, it's not my sister's best friend's cousin that's the bloke of the story. It's me. And it really ain't funny at all.

You see, it's not that I'd be fucking ugly or damn idiotical (despite the earlier presented evidence). Desperate I am, though. Well, you'd be, too, have you not found yourself a wife already. Have you ever really thought about it? Ev'ry single wizard and witch in Britain goes to Hogwarts. The're roughly two hundred, two hundred and fifty students there at the same time. Over half of them are wizards – I don't know why, it just _is_ so. You can count it yourself, if you don't take my word for it. You do? Okay, then. I'll go on.

So, there're about eighty to one hundred and ten witches at the same time attending the school. As you go there for seven years, and new students come ev'ry year, you get to see maybe one hundred and eighty, two hundred witches altogether while you're at school. Are you still following? Good. Then, think about how most people find themselves a mate that lives in the same country as them and is max. six years older or younger than they're. That means that in order to marry a witch, you should find one among the girls going to Hogwarts at the same time with you. And there ain't more than hundred and eighty or two hundred of them. And _that's _assuming you start looking at the mature age of eleven and somehow, as a preteen, charm the seventh years, too. _And _there're more wizards than witches so there's the competition to think 'bout, as well.

In the Muggle world, it's the opposite. There're more women than men, there. And there're thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands of unmarried women in 'bout the same age range as you. Think 'bout it! Of course I seized the day, for Merlin's sake!

With my rotten luck, I just didn't simply seize the day. I fell in love.

And then there weren't hundreds of thousands of opportunities anymore. There was only one. And she was simply smashing. Beautiful, sweet, clever – and in love with me, too. I _knew_ it wouldn't be easy to tell her the truth, though. I knew it right away. She's very delicate, you see. Maybe even a bit fragile. She gets frightened really easy.

I just couldn't see _how _easy.

I've tried. Dear Merlin how I've tried. Eight – no, nine times. (I admit, I'd like to forget the eighth one.) And most of them failed 'cause of my rotten luck. Well, okay, I _didn't _remember about the museum. And that time with Floo _was_ probably my fault. And I should have known that movie wasn't a brilliant introduction. But the other times...uh. C'mon, think about it!

I admit it, I'm desperate. I wouldn't have done it, otherwise. I mean, I _had _to start it all over from the very beginning for nine bloody times! All of it: meeting her for the first time, making moves, getting her interested, asking her out, making her fall in love - all the hard stuff. And I couldn't just make the same moves each time, you know. It all depended on her _moods_ on each particular day – and she somehow _felt_ it if I used an old move, and didn't fall for it. Each time it took at least three months to get it to the point where I could tell her. And botch it up again. Her friends and family were quite confused at times, I think, as I couldn't Ob _them_ ev'ry time. She must've introduced me to her Dad at least six times.

Oh. Now you ask why _all over_ and from the _very beginning_, eh? Why didn't I only Ob the last few hours from her mind? Well...erm... Damn it! Try it yourself! Okay, okay, so I'm not so good at Charms! Frankly, I'm bloody dreadful at them. Nearly got a Troll. I can't control my Obbing! I didn't _mean_ to Ob all of her memories 'bout me, I frankly didn't. But with that awful first time – remember, all the policemen and cousins and siblings and accusations and hysterics – I just botched it, and from then on, I couldn't get it right. Stress or something. I feel pretty bad about it. I mean, it was inconvenient for me, but for her it must've been horrible. - - I've heard they nowadays make you bring an Auror with you when you Ob a Muggle girlfriend, but back then, they didn't. I guess I was the reason they changed_ that_ law.

Some good I did, I guess.

Yeah...well...okay...that was it. The story of the bloke who Obbed his Muggle bird a dozen times. Or actually nine. Hope you had fun.- - -Have a nice day.

What? What did you ask? Oh. Why did I tell you this? - - - Well...tomorrow I'll have my wand back. - - I...I...erm...I guess I'm trying to convince myself not to try again. - - Even though I really had just  rotten luck.

I really think I could get it right this time.

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There it was. This was an experiment with a different writing style, a different genre (tragicomedy wasn't on the list of options on the ff.net) and the first person POV. All the first times for me, so I'd be extremely grateful for and interested in your comments. 

And: **if someone happens to be an expert on British Social Service system – dole, allowances for attending school etc., could you contact me via e-mail? I'm planning this story and I'd need some info. (You can either be an expert by personal experience, observation or avid reading of the newspapers... no great experties needed, only things that a Brit probably knows naturally.)**

_Hey, d'you know what time it is?_

_Yeah, yeah, it's the time for this:_

_a review must be typed fast_

_or this fic might be her last!_

_You don't wish for her to end_

_after or beyond the bend_

_of on-line loneliness and grim?_

_She could very well, on a whim,_

_decide to altogether stop_

_all gathering of mental crop._

_She tried to be lil' funny here_

_she maybe didn't get so near,_

_but let her know on either case,_

_even flames light  up her face!_


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